Somebody Sees You
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Coda to "The Omega Directive". Seven wants to know why the Omega particles affected her as they did. Her research method yields some unexpected results. Requested by Alaster Boneman.


Somebody Sees You

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: CBS

Author's Note: This story was written for **Alaster Boneman.** The references to Omega molecules and the origins of the Borg were taken from the _Star Trek: Destiny _trilogy by David Mack.

/

"_Oh for the lonely, for the ashamed_

_The misunderstood and the ones to blame_

_What if we could start over_

_We could start over_

_We could start over_

_'Cause there's a kind of love that God only knows"_

"God Only Knows" by For King And Country, feat. Dolly Parton

/

"Commander, will you assist me with a vision quest?" asked Seven of Nine, in the same tone she would have used to ask for extra energy rations for Astrometrics.

"Why would you want to do that?" Chakotay asked, unable to hide his dismay.

She was the least likely person he would have expected to ask him that, and also the least welcome. His faith was deeply personal to him. The prospect of hearing her comment on it in her mechanical, judgmental way went against the grain.

And did she have to ask him here, in the mess hall, of all places? It was nearly empty, most of the day shift crew already having finished their dinner, but he had lost track of time over a pile of reports on his padd. A few curious crewmen were glancing in their direction. He knew it must look odd, the resident Borg drone standing at attention, looming over the First Officer as he plowed through a leftover bowl of (disgusting) Aeroponics-grown carrot soup. How did she still not grasp the concept of sitting down?

"I saw something I cannot understand," she said. "When the Captain and I destroyed the Omega molecules, they were beginning to combine … spontaneously."

"They did?" Chakotay put down his spoon. He was no quantum physicist, but what little he knew about Omega was enough to sent a jolt of alarm through him. When a substance capable of turning entire regions of space into uninhabitable wastelands suddenly changed its behavior, that was reason enough to want to know why. "How is that possible?"

"I do not know," she said, with an edge of frustration. "Every scientific method I have used to search for an answer has failed. I am therefore obliged to look … elsewhere."

_To you and your superstitions_ was the unspoken end of that sentence. Clearly asking for a vision quest was as unpalatable to her as Chakotay's carrot soup was to him, but just as clearly, it was also the only option.

It was unlikely that a vision quest would be able to unearth any new information about Omega, but it wasn't impossible. The human soul, or subconscious – whatever you called it – was rich with buried knowledge, and an ex-Borg's even more so.

Besides, Kolopak had believed that the visions induced by the _akoonah_ were a gift from the spirits that must not be denied to anyone who asked. And since the old man was now among the spirits himself, Chakotay found it much harder to disobey him than during his lifetime.

"Okay," he said, glancing at the padd on the table, rather regretting that he had finished the last report and couldn't use it as an excuse. "I've got time. Does tonight work for you?"

"Twenty-one-hundred hours. How do I prepare?"

"Well … it's customary to bring a medicine bundle, a few small items that are meaningful to you, to help you focus."

Her expression became blank for a moment, and he wondered if she even had any such items down in Cargo Bay Two. No doubt she would consider them irrelevant.

"Very well," she said coolly, without lowering her voice, so that anyone in earshot would hear. "I will report to your quarters at twenty-one-hours."

Without saying goodnight or even waiting to be dismissed, she marched away.

Neelix's arm paused in mid-scrub along the counter. Crewmen Tal and Telfer at the next table studiously avoided Chakotay's eyes.

He got up, pushed the rest of his carrot soup into the recycler, and headed for his quarters, shooting a final _mind-your-own-business_ glare at everyone in the room.

/

_Beep._

"Come in."

Seven walked into the First Officer's quarters at 2100 hours sharp, feeling as awkward and badly assembled as the objects she carried in her arms. She found him straightening a blanket on the sofa and looking up abruptly at the sound of her footsteps, as if she were an intruder rather than an invited guest.

His quarters were very clean and well organized, even if they did contain several impractical items of the sort that individuals seemed to value. The blanket he had been tidying was brown and white, woven in a spiral pattern not unlike the tattoo on its owner's forehead. A web of beads and strings in a circular frame, with feathers underneath it, hung above the sofa. A painting of the Milky Way galaxy hung on the opposite wall, the stars gleaming in the light. Spirals and webs seemed to be a recurring theme, which intrigued her. Their mathematical properties were so different from the basic geometry of a cube or a sphere.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the sofa. His device sat on the glass-topped table in front of it, presumably for her use.

She had spent eighteen years on her feet, including the time spent regenerating. The motion of sitting was still unnatural to her. But rather than provoke an unnecessary discussion, she sat. Chakotay sat down in an armchair opposite her.

"Are these adequate?" she asked, assembling her possessions in a row next to the device on the table.

"Were they your parents?" he said, instead of answering her question, picking up a framed photograph with a surprising degree of caution, as if it were liable to shatter any minute. His voice, too, was suddenly subdued. When Captain Janeway spoke like this, she was expressing sympathy. Seven found that hard enough to accept from her, let alone from this man who didn't even want her on board.

The photograph was a screen capture from an interview the Drs. Hansen had given just before setting out on their journey. They were energetic, excited, standing back to back on the bridge of the _Raven_, caught in mid-gestureas they explained to the journalist how their findings were going to revolutionize the fields of engineering, biology etc.

Seven had her father's hair and eye colors, her mother's facial structure, and a slim, tall build that belonged to them both. But the animation on their faces was utterly foreign to her.

"Yes," she said, taking the photograph away and laying it face down on the table. "And that," pointing to the next item, "Is a data module from the cube on which I was stationed. I assure you it contains no active nanoprobes."

The Commander eyed the fragment of Borg technology, twisted and blackened from a battle with Species 8472, with distaste. It did look grotesque sitting on his coffee table, but what had he expected?

"What's this?" he asked, picking up the third item.

It was a black-glazed ceramic raven – at least, it was intended to be one. The plump, lopsided shape looked like something a child would make and was a disgrace to her sense of order. Only the memory of Captain Janeway's smile had prevented Seven from recycling it. She caught herself blushing as the Commander turned it over in his large hands.

"The Captain has been using her Leonardo da Vinci program to teach me to sculpt. That piece was my first attempt. She replicated a copy for me. My technique is crude, but according to her, that is not the point."

"A raven?" he asked, placing it back in a row with the others. He must have guessed that from the context, since it resembled a deformed pigeon more than anything else.

"Yes."

"All three stages of your life so far," he murmured. "That's good."

"Shall we proceed?"

The Commander hesitated, looking down at the collection with an expression Seven once again could not read.

"I don't know what you've heard about my people's vision quests," he said. "But before we start, there are some things you should know."

"Specify."

"Well … to start with, it's an unpredictable process." He shot another glance at the Borg data module. "It's not like a computer. You might not get the answer you're looking for, or it might not arrive in the form you're expecting. The way the _akoonah_ works is by tapping into your subconscious, so that you're basically in a dream state. Finding out what it tells you is a matter of intuition."

"I know," said Seven. "Mr. Neelix has informed me."

"And the visions can be … intense." Chakotay's eyes rested on the photograph of the Hansens. "Sometimes things come up that you'd rather keep hidden. It may upset you."

_It was a dark night of the soul, my dear,_ Neelix had told her, his spotted whiskery face unusually serious. _I've never been so terrified in my life, but it was necessary. Without Chakotay's help, I wouldn't exist in this universe today. If you're looking for answers, trust him. He'll see you through._

Before she could explain that her soul was not the problem, the Talaxian had patted her hand and hurried away.

"Omega is a matter of galactic importance," she said, reminding herself as well as Commander Chakotay of why she was sitting here and preparing for this peculiar ritual in the first place. "My emotional state is irrelevant."

"I disagree with you there," said the Commander, with another disconcerting flash of pity in his dark eyes. "But it's up to you. Put your hand on the scanner."

He slid the device – the _akoonah_ – across the table. Presumably the scanner was the metallic circle with holes in it.

"Which hand?" she asked. Would the Borg components in her left one interfere with the technology?

"Either one."

"How does your device function?"

"I'll tell you later, but I promise you it's safe."

"Should I be wearing a cortical monitor?"

"_Seven."_

His hand came down to cover hers over the scanner, the vibrations of his irritated voice travelling between them like a miniature earthquake. It took a great deal to make the levelheaded First Officer lose his patience, even in such a small way. Seven's pulse jumped. He let go.

"Excuse me," he said, sitting as far back as the size of his armchair permitted. "It's just … the less you interrupt, the sooner we can start. And if you do get any … unexpected side effects, I'll pull you out immediately."

An unpleasant voice in the back of her mind pointed out that she was placing a great deal of trust in a man who had tried to eject her out of an airlock the first time they met. But she was not that drone anymore. He must know that, or he'd never have invited her into his quarters like this. She was not the only one acting on trust.

_He'll see you through, _Neelix had said.

"Understood."

What followed was a typical religious ritual of the sort that all her Borg programming objected to as nonsense. She did not see how the bones of their grandfathers could possibly be relevant, or why, if Starfleet's universal translators could decode even the languages of the Delta Quadrant, they would fail at "_Akoochimoya_", which had to be a human word – unless it was a proper noun, perhaps?

She swallowed one question after another, feeling more and more absurd as she glanced from her "medicine bundle" to the Commander's solemn face. Nothing was happening. Perhaps the _akoonah_ would not work for her. Perhaps her Borg implants, her skeptical attitude or both made her immune. She struggled not to laugh.

Dizziness took hold of her. She counted the hours since she had last regenerated. It had been a mistake to do this with her Borg components so low on energy. Fatigue was obviously impairing her judgment. Although this did, at least, explain why the Commander had told her to sit down. Her head spun and her legs felt like a pair of worn-out gel packs. Could she even stand up if she tried?

He had such a pleasant voice. So deep and low and soothing, like the hum of her regeneration alcove, although no doubt he would be offended to hear that. She could listen to him for hours.

Her parents' photograph, the Borg data module and the little black bird began to blur in front of her eyes.

/

_The raven swooped low over her head, let out a screech, and disappeared down the corridor. She knew that bird. It had led her to the truth once before, a truth that hurt her at the time, but which she was all the better for knowing. She trusted it._

_She was in the Astrometrics laboratory on _Voyager_, charting a nebula over its high-definition screen. The workspace she had created with Borg technology, Ensign Kim's support and her own competence was her favorite part of the ship, and the one where she felt most at ease. But the raven was calling her elsewhere. She hurried to follow it …_

… _and ran right into Cargo Bay Two, where the resonance chamber shone bright blue with the Omega molecules inside._

_She peered through the microscope. There were so many of them, more than the Collective had ever been able to synthesize, and they were perfect. Each one of them could power a civilization. They shimmered like pearls in a necklace as, before her eyes, they began to form a sphere._

_No. Not a sphere._

_A face._

_Thin nose. Full lips. Pointed chin. Wavy hair in a loose bun. Pale eyes that met Seven's with a piercing intensity that made it impossible to look away._

"_Mama?"_

"_Annika, help me!" Erin pressed her hand to the wall of the resonance chamber. She was trapped inside it. "Let me out!"_

"_Don't listen," said Captain Janeway sharply, standing beside Seven just as she had done in real life. "It's an illusion. Omega must be destroyed."_

"_Captain - "_

"_It's too dangerous," said Janeway. "Deactivate the chamber. That's an order!"_

_Tears streamed down Seven's face, but she knew her mentor was right. Omega destroyed subspace. Voyager would be stranded. She couldn't do that to her shipmates; 83 lives were more important than one, even if that one life belonged to her mother …_

"_I'm sorry, Mama," she sobbed, and pressed the button. The raven screamed._

_A blinding flash of blue was the last thing she saw … _

/

"Seven. Seven of Nine, come back!"

Chakotay snatched her hand away from the _akoonah_ and shook her by the shoulders. Her eyes were open, but she did not seem to see him. She was crying harder than he'd ever seen an adult cry. What in the galaxy had she seen?

"Seven, can you hear me?"

Chakotay felt sick with guilt. This was like Neelix and the Guiding Tree all over again. Who did he think he was, a medicine man? They trained entire lifetimes to fulfill their calling. He was a clumsy amateur messing around with forces beyond his comprehension, and if Seven paid the price, he would never forgive himself –

"Commander … ?"

Somehow, in his efforts to wake her, he had crossed the room and ended up on the sofa with her. She had fallen forward with her head on his chest, her hands clinging to his jacket and her hair coming undone. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the fabric of his uniform. She sounded groggy, as well she might, and when she lifted her head to blink up at him, her eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

"It's okay, Seven. You're safe." His hand traced a circle over her back, feeling the steel in her spine, but also the way she was trembling.

She had a fragrance to her – not sterile and metallic, as he would have expected from a Borg drone, but clean and warm and alive …

It took a few moments for the impropriety of the situation to sink in. But once it did, it sank in with a vengeance.

She had called him _Commander. _Even in a trance state, she didn't think of him as anything but the ship's First Officer. And a First Officer did not take advantage of a young crewmember's distress by holding her in his arms any longer than necessary.

He disentangled himself and darted across the room with all the speed a man of his age and size could muster.

"Computer," he said to the replicator, "One pack of tissues."

The replicator obliged.

"And can I get you something to drink?"

She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I appear to be in need of hydration. Cold water, please."

The childlike gesture and the tears were so at odds with her clinical way of speaking that Chakotay couldn't believe his own thoughts. Just because he missed the feeling of holding a woman, that didn't give him the right to react to Seven like this. She wasn't even a woman in that sense. She was half child and half machine.

By the time the replicator produced her glass of water, he had himself mostly under control.

She scrubbed her face with the tissues, blew her nose, and drank her water in what seemed to Chakotay like an extremely awkward silence.

"So," he said, settling back into the safe distance of his armchair and putting on what he hoped was the professional manner of a Starfleet counselor. "How about we start with you sharing what you saw, and then we can discuss it."

She told him about her vision of her mother trapped in the Omega chamber in a slow, hesitant way, staring down at her tightly clasped hands with a crumpled tissue between them instead of meeting his eyes.

It did sound horrible; no wonder she had been crying. Chakotay knew all too well how vivid the visions could be. Everything you kept bottled up in the daytime tended to come out in a dream state, and it was rarely pleasant. What a dark place her subconscious must be. It was a testament to Kathryn's care, the Doctor's competence and Seven's own strength of will that she was still sane.

"Do you mean to say," he said, "That you believe … or some part of you believes … the Omega molecules stabilized because they didn't want to be destroyed? Because they wanted you to protect them?"

That was a more heart-wrenching theory than any he could have come up with himself, and one that told him far more about Seven than about any molecules, no matter how powerful.

"It is illogical to ascribe sentience to a molecule," Seven said stiffly.

"The dreamworld has a different kind of logic, Seven. If you saw it, you believe it. The question is why."

She sat for so long that he wondered if she was refusing to answer. He was just about to try another question when she said, in a jarring non-sequitur: "Did you know that the Borg Queen is not, in fact, the ultimate authority in the Collective?"

"Isn't she?"

"No. The Queens serve as catalysts, but they are mortal and can be replaced. The unifying force behind the Collective is its founder, a non-corporeal life form once known as Sedin."

This would have fascinated him at any other time – he'd never stopped to consider the origins of the Borg before – but he still didn't see how it related to Seven's vision.

"Her species, the Caeliar, live in a separate dimension," she continued, making an effort to speak as calmly and neutrally as if presenting a report in the ready room. He sensed that she was simplifying for his benefit, but he didn't mind; the technical details were probably so complicated that it would take a Borg cortical node to understand them.

"They use Omega as a source of energy. It allows them to exist in a state of perfect harmony – a unity of purpose without the loss of individuality. The Borg hive mind is nothing but a crude attempt to imitate that state. Sedin was lost. She has been attempting for millennia to harness enough Omega to return to her native dimension and take the Collective with her."

Then, in a small voice that tugged on Chakotay's heartstrings more than her tears had done, Seven added: "She wants to go home."

And in attempting to do that, Chakotay finished her thought, this life form had torn billions of people away from their own homes. To think that the Borg Collective – the most powerful threat Starfleet had ever faced and the source of his own worst nightmares – would have its origins in something so simple.

And if Sedin wanted to go home, she wasn't the only one.

No wonder Seven had seen her mother's face in the resonance chamber. If harnessing Omega really was the key to freeing the Borg from the hive mind and bringing them into _'unity of purpose without the loss of individuality',_ that meant …

"Is that why you wanted to study the molecules?" Chakotay asked. "So you could use them to somehow free your parents?"

"Yes."

That made sense. In Chakotay's experience, people never felt the kind of passion Seven had for a research topic unless their motives were personal. She had described it for him earlier in spiritual terms: _"If you had the chance to see the face of your god, what would you do?"_ But for him, the gods had always shown themselves with faces he knew: his grandfather, Boothby, the she-wolf he called his animal guide. The true nature of the divine was beyond him. The closest he could get was by revering it in forms he could understand.

Seven was trying, in her way, to do the same thing. She was looking for her loved ones to help her step outside herself and find somewhere to belong. So was he. So was the _Voyager _crew_._ And so, albeit on a galactic scale and with horribly warped methods, were Sedin and her Collective.

"You want to go home, don't you?" asked Chakotay. "We all do."

"I can never go back."

_Neither can I_, Chakotay thought, remembering Dorvan V and the smoking rubble where his village had been. He hadn't been there in person to identify the bodies – he'd heard the news via subspace– but in dreams and visions, his hands still bled from trying to dig his father out.

"No," he said. "But you can go forward."

"Do you mean to say I should continue researching Omega?"

The woman was literal-minded to a fault. Even at a moment like this, it provoked his worn-out sense of humor. "Just try not to blow up _Voyager_ while you're at it."

"I would never - " She cut herself off mid-sentence, blinked and tilted her head. "Very amusing," she rasped.

"Would you like some more water?"

She peered into her empty glass and set it back down on the table. "No. Computer, time."

"_The time is 21 hours, 33 minutes."_

"I am overdue to regenerate." She picked up the glass and used-up tissues, stood up on unsteady legs and headed for the replicator. "I am … obliged to you, Commander, for your assistance."

"Anytime."

He did not entirely mean this. He was far from confident in his abilities as a counselor-slash-medicine-man, and this glimpse into Seven's soul was already enough to trouble his sleep. But that was beside the point. If she needed him, he would be there.

Seven's debris vanished in a glow of white light. If only all their problems were so easy to get rid of. She turned back to gather her medicine bundle, with a long, searching look at her parents' photograph.

"Commander … what if I never find the answer?"

Did she mean the literal answer of how to control Omega and free the Borg, or an answer about life in general?

Chakotay shrugged. "Even if you don't, the question's still worthwhile."

She clasped her three valuables to her chest and, in her typical abrupt way, left the room.

But the scent of her hair lingered, and so did the memory of her eyes: wide open in her search for answers even when blinded by tears.


End file.
